Bloody Daggers
by its0the0ennui
Summary: AU. Three years ago Lily made a mistake that nearly took her life. Now, Voldermort has her within his clutches, and Lily finds herself torn between the sins she cannot escape and the boy she left behind.
1. Altogether Yours

Bloody Daggers  
  
Chapter 1: Altogether Yours  
  
I won't keep doing this; I can't go on There's no hope left for my life at long I tried, I did, I did just what you asked Break the bottles; smash the glass  
  
It all started in a glass house. It was dark and haunting at a distance, but everything concerning it was transparent as the dawn to anyone brave enough to look. I cried my tears there for many, many years until I cried enough. And now I'm going to fight back.  
  
I was a good person. I never would have looked at that evil house, never ever. But good people do bad things, even when they don't know it themselves. I did a bad thing once and I paid my price with a thousand gallons of tears.gb  
  
The life I was raised to live never commenced. I suppose it's rather bold to say this, but my parents' tragic attempts to raise me right were most probably in vain. I was raised a good person. My parents were extraordinary people, to that I am sure. I, however, could not stay good. Life is not so kind. By my twenty-first birthday, life had led me astray.  
  
It was a scary world in which I lived. Defense was a must-have. Of course, it wasn't as if I could say defense did a damn thing. It didn't. Not against him. Not against my master. Defense was almost as bad as escape, and escape was punishable by death. I was at the mercy of Voldemort, the Dark Lord, and I knew that better than my own two hands. There was no escape.  
  
It was the life that I lived inside that glass house though, that scarred the world. It was the makings of a filthy mudblood that killed so many others. I was the backbone of a conspiracy in which I thought I played no part.  
  
My story you shall now know, for I am giving it to you. And with it I give you my life.  
  
A/N: I know this story has been done before. In fact, I believe I have read one like it that was never finished, but I swear to god this will be different. Please review.  
  
Later days,  
  
Hunter 


	2. Split Personality

Chapter 2: Split Personality  
  
I feel it go deeper, deeper inside Crossing my heart, hopping to die Wish at last to die in peace Forget the bullshit at very least  
  
I was born in France, albeit I admit my mother was Irish. Supposedly my biological grandmother was Egyptian, but my father bore the name Evans. I'm not sure where my origins truly lie. From the time I was eleven I attended boarding school. By then I didn't matter in my nationality. All that mattered was my blood, and the fact that it was impure. And that was a terrible misfortune.  
  
When I was fifteen I lost my virginity, and with that I lost my reputation. The Slytherin who took it told me later it was all a joke. Apparently some guy had liked me pure of heart. The boy's Slytherin enemy took my purity for a laugh. The joke wasn't lost on me.  
  
I fell into the cruelty of the world after that. I was miserable to those who asked and I drank cheap lemonade that was tainted with a faint metallic feel all the time. I knew distantly that I was being stupid, that this wasn't the end of the world. But that fateful day on which I was so sure Macnair loved me shattered my soul and set destiny into motion.  
  
Now I find myself in this house of glass. Alone.  
  
I know deep inside my bones that I could be happy out there. I'd be happy out in the world.  
  
A sharp tapping wrought its evil on my door. Of course that would be my master. I sighed as I got up off my bed. I really didn't mind leaving the mattress; it was cold, and hard, and swallowed me inside it. A series of knocks ensued and then a unnecessarily loud growl of frustration followed.  
  
"I'm fucking coming." I yelled through the door. "Alright?"  
  
The door opened with a crash and through the broken glass stepped Lord Voldemort in all his glory. His eyes were a swirling scarlet. They were hate-filled eyes. I knew this just as well as he. Before I could take in more than his night's black cloak he had passed his palm swiftly across his cheek.  
  
I knew a red handprint was quickly forming on my cheek.  
  
"Bow to your Dark Lord." He ordered me and I shook my head defiantly. "Bow, Miss Evans, and perhaps I'll spare your life."  
  
I laughed hollowly. I couldn't care less if I died at his hand. At least I'd then be free of him. Besides, I knew my life was far too valued to be ended. My death was not in Voldemort's interest. A high price was set on my head and if Voldemort killed me, his known whore, no other would ever take my place. I was far too powerful to allow that.  
  
"I shan't bow to you, scum. I shan't bow to any but the god who gives me absolution." I closed my eyes at the mere thought. My sins bore to heavy a weight on me. Thoughts of love and happy life ravaged the back of my eyelids. When I finally did open my eyes I saw that the shape of the man before me had changed. There was now a noble figure in the velvet cloak. He was handsome with black eyes, deceiving his passions, and a look of wisdom that was much to old to suit his young face.  
  
"I'm sorry, my dear, for that. Malfoy's young protégée angered me."  
  
I stared at him with a heavy heart. Despite myself I encircled him with my arms. "Do you mean Snape, Tom? You're giving him the mark? But you must know he hates me!"  
  
"Do not insult my intelligence, Miss Evans. I know it was *he* that *you* hate."  
  
"Tom, I implore you, leave my rooms at once."  
  
The man cackled in a way that deeply did not suit him. "Then I will leave. But you have no door."  
  
"That's a dirty trick, but you're wrong." I pointed my wand fixedly at the door. "*Reparo. *"  
  
"I think I'm to stay the night tonight, love."  
  
My eyes opened wide. Tom Riddle was a good man in appearance and a good man in life, but he had a duo personality. On one side he was Tom, a clever man, born to lead by the law. On the other, her was a lord of darkness. And Tom never did ultimately prevail in a battle of wits between the two. Tom was always good to me, but he was lustful, and Voldemort always conquered in the darkness of the night when lovers meet.  
  
"Tom," I began, but he would have none of his and he silenced me with a prodding kiss I could not refuse. 


	3. Baffled Souls

Chapter: Baffled Souls  
  
Lost in a maze that never ends Forgot the map that shows the bends Crossing my heart, hopping to die Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs  
  
Tom turned his back towards me the next morning as I dressed in my customary long, black robe. He looked so innocent lying there, almost the same as a boy I think, dare I say it, I may have loved. His black hair was so unruly. I might have loved him in the mornings for that.  
  
I wish I could say he turned away out of respect and kindness for me, as a woman, but there was no room for kindness in his heart of ice. Yet ice can be melted, and I knew even then that his transformation into the Dark Lord Voldemort had yet to conclude. However, at the present I knew that there was no love in the man's heart.  
  
It angered me that Tom Riddle, a man that in his conquer of me had claimed he cared for me, could ever be so cruel in his pseudo- respectful ways. To me, I thought it would be proper between a man and a woman who had wild relationships together, like Tom and myself, to ignore nudity, possibly even embrace it.  
  
He knew not that I saw through his carefully constructed mask of trickery. He knew not that I did not trust in his lies. He knew not that my love for him was false. Tom Riddle did not know a lot of things.  
  
I realized then that I hated him at that moment. I hated him for everything he had ever done, and everything he would ever do, and I was unsure of why. In spite of myself, I had a strong urge to slap the man with black hair and black, lusting eyes. Instead I curled my hands into tight fists.  
  
He glanced back at me.  
  
"Finish what you started," he said in a low, throaty whisper. It was not a request.  
  
Only then did I realize how clearly I was betraying my feelings through the blood that was slowly rolling past my crimson nails.  
  
I stood with my robe falling off my shoulders unclasped, naked as a babe. Once again I began to dress.  
  
"Excuse me, master," I whispered with a small bow and took my leave.  
  
There was only one place I could take refuge from Voldemort within his stone halls. It was a small library that was often used for meetings that were held between Tom and his acquaintances, often his mistresses. That was supposed to be a secret, I knew.  
  
The library, in truth, was much more of a storeroom for dangerous spell books and such that Voldemort had mastered many years before. It was dark and a little dusty, but it was the perfect place for a single person to sit, read and transfigure tea into cappuccinos or, more often than not, hard lemonade. At the moment I was reading the Muggle book *The Three Musketeers*, and I suppose Tom would be more than just a tad cross if he knew I was reading "dirty" literature. He would be livid to know that I had brought Muggle paraphernalia into his house. But he wasn't to know.  
  
Today, however, I didn't read I just sat. I was alarmed at Tom's subtle behavior. Normally he would wake me far to early just to ravage me twice more before he set off to do whatever he did during the day, plot his attacks I suppose. I wasn't completely despondent in the morning's change of schedule. In fact, I might have said I was pleased. However, pleasure of any kind must end.  
  
That's how it was for me; all or nothing.  
  
Mindlessly, I drew a dagger from a shelf near by, lifting my sleeve, then lightly tracing a path down my arm. A straight line of scarlet swiftly appeared against my alabaster skin. I suppose this action was more out of habit than anything else.  
  
A small tear began to make its way down my cheek, and I realized it wasn't for the pain at all. I lifted my hand to check that it was real, and I immediately knew that I was crying because I had no idea what was going on.  
  
Everything I knew, everything, it wasn't there. I was alone in my little room, and that was not where I was meant to be.  
  
Someone once told me that life can last a very long time, and that what we do with it is our choice to make, but in the end it shan't matter. In the end we'll be born again as humans. And human are sinners by nature. Of course I don't believe in reincarnation. I don't believe in anything anymore.  
  
There really wasn't much to life. You sit, and you think, and sometimes you take action. But that wasn't what I wanted to be. That was not where I wanted to be in my life.  
  
Then a thought struck me. Where was I?  
  
I dropped the knife and screamed.  
  
I was lost.  
  
A/N: I just realized that I posted this story as PG, and it's defiantly not gonna be PG. No way in hell could I get this story to be PG. Even if I wanted to. Sorry about that. Thank you to the person who reviewed (sorry for not mentioning you're name, but I'm to lazy to go check to see what it is.) It may take awhile to get the next chapter up. Maybe not. It shouldn't take longer than a week and a half, though. Please review. I'll love anyone that reviews and I'll be their best friend forever and ever and ever and ever. Wait, that doesn't seem like a very good prospect, does it?  
  
Later Days,  
  
Hunter  
  
P.S. (I feel like I'm writing a letter.) This story is based on the poem that a is supposed to appear by stanza at the top of every chapter. I don't know how to get it to appear in poetry format. If you can help, please email me at the address shown in my profile.  
  
Thanks,  
  
Hunter 


	4. Beaten Tears

Chapter 4: Beaten Tears  
  
Words like daggers you stare with your eyes  
  
As you cut through my skin I begin to cry  
  
Hidden from everyone these bloody wounds  
  
My hopeless future forever looms  
  
It was cold in the stone library when I woke, my arm drenched with my own scarlet blood. It was all a bit fuzzy. What had happened in that cold, stone room was unimaginable. That isn't to say impossible. After all, anything was possible inside the faux-glass house. That room, it was evil. I suppose it had been tormented with too much immorality.  
  
I left that room as quickly as I possibly could.  
  
The hallway was slightly warmer, and I returned to my room as quickly as possible. I was red with blood, and any affiliation with crimson was treason in the house of a Slytherin. I had no choice but to return to my room and remove my Gryffindor colors. But for one moment I had let my true colors shine, and that was an achievement.  
  
"Looking red, Lily," jeered one woman with a silky voice. She was the seductress, Pamela Parkinson. She had a large chest and a fake face, beautified through magic. She was one of Tom's girls, though it was well- known that the Malfoys and their kin hoped dearly to bring her into their family. She was Slytherin to her core, and I hated her for it.  
  
Her friend Narcissa Black, fiancée of Lucius Malfoy laughed her high- pitched laugh that caused shivers to course through my body and the scarlet hairs at the nape of my neck to stand up.  
  
Narcissa and Pamela were bitches to the bone. I'd gone to school with them. Not to say I ever hung out with them. They were the type of teenagers who cursed the Mudblood stoners, and then chased their truly magical "magic dragons." They were haters of my origins, so I hated them. I always preferred to sit on the outskirts of a group of Gryffindor girls. They were pretty and popular. I hated them too.  
  
I was an adult, though, and I could handle a couple of immature witches. I was Tom's-  
  
No, I wasn't. I wasn't Tom's anything. I wasn't anybody's anything. But if I was somebody's something, I wasn't sure just what I was. If I were Tom's, what was I of Tom's?  
  
I was so confused, but I held my head high and walked past the two women with as much dignity as I could muster. It wasn't all that hard. All it took to live with Tom was a little bit of pride.  
  
The light in my glass room was dim when I arrived. Of course, that was understandable as it was already early in the evening. It was my favorite part of day, just after sunset but still before nightfall. It was brilliant.  
  
But good things never stay.  
  
"What are you doing?" Tom asked me quietly. Deathly quietly.  
  
"I'm doing," I told him, "just doing,"  
  
He shrugged, and flipped his hair out of his velvet eyes. He was frightening, yes, even as Tom, but he wasn't terrifying, and I recognized quite pointedly the gentle lust in his eyes as he spoke to me, and tried so deliberately invisibly to seduce me. I could see it, and I hated it, and yet I knew it was working.  
  
"Lily-flower," he said softly.  
  
I placed my hands on my hips and swayed them sensually. I placed a smirking pout on my natural crimson lips. I was red. And he loved it.  
  
"You really must stop calling me that, Tom. You make me sound so innocent."  
  
He remained quiet, and yet he raised a straight black eyebrow.  
  
Was that a silent suggestion?  
  
In case it was, I stepped forward, closer to him. I placed a red kiss at the side of his mouth. Gods, was he lovely. He had high cheekbones. I loved high cheekbones.  
  
But then I could see him shake that impending desire off. However, I didn't know if Voldemort had subjugated Tom once more.  
  
"Mudblood," he said ethereally. So deathly vaporously. "Where were you today? I didn't see you."  
  
I looked at him. Had he ever called me that before, I wondered silently to myself. Had he really called me a Mudblood? He swore to me once, once a very long time ago, that he would never hurt me. No matter what happened or who he was, he promised he wouldn't say such things. Of course, I knew it could never be Tom I was speaking to. Underneath his fake kindnesses and many whores, I was his favorite and I know that deep in him he really did love me. Very, very deep in him.  
  
I gave him a pointed look. I searched him carefully, wondering at his interest. Voldemort rarely cared when it came to my relations with Tom. True, I met him daily, and I fucked him regularly, but he did not question me. I was Tom's underneath it all. Not his. After all, I *was* a Mudblood."  
  
"Master, I ask you politely, leave now. It is not your business in the least how I busy myself during the day. So please, please fuck off."  
  
The man with the scarlet eyes that betrayed his heritage glowed in an odd flame.  
  
Yet my eyes were icy. It seemed I stole his eyes.  
  
"I said," he repeated slowly, "where were you." He grimaced in a way I knew was a grimace of Tom's. "It doesn't matter what you say. I know you were with Snape."  
  
"Snape?"  
  
"Yes, Snape. I do presume you knew his name before you fucked him. Or did you not even see his face? Did you just spread your legs?"  
  
"You're vile."  
  
"Perhaps, and yet I now have reason to kill you."  
  
I raised a cool dark red eyebrow. "You wouldn't." Not that I would care. Oh, dear god, I wished right then that he would. It was not a major feat to die at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was, however, quite honorable to stand up to the man. And so I did.  
  
"Never be sure, Miss Evans. To me, you are no more than a whore."  
  
"Certainly," I agreed, "but I'm am also a keeper of the peace. I did not as much as touch the slime on the right hand of Severus Snape, so leave me be. I shan't betray Tom, however I give little more than a monkey's balls for you, Master."  
  
He struck me swiftly, and I faced him once more in rapid haste.  
  
"Touch me not, master, for I assure you: I can do more than you can ever imagine."  
  
Voldemort sneered. He knew full well that I was much more than a prostitute. Yet he also knew that I was profusely noble, and in that I was not only superior to his Death Eaters, but I was superior to himself. As I was such, why the hell would I submit to his orders? Why would I yield my power to evil when I was so good?  
  
"I'll leave you now, Miss Evans," he stated impassively, but his ruby eyes divulged his anger.  
  
"You're going to go fuck yourself, my *lord*?" I asked carelessly, indifferent towards the consequences and cold towards his previous deeds.  
  
"No," he said faintly. "I'm going to fuck a little first years girl. Bones was her name."  
  
I knew a girl named Bones once. She had a little sister. I scowled, knowing it was Suzie Bones that they caught. I damned the Dark Lord Voldemort at that moment, I damned him to the pits of hell.  
  
It was only a millisecond later when cold, pale flesh smashed itself coolly against my face that I knew I had voiced my thoughts aloud. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how much pain I endured in that house of glass. It didn't matter what was done to me as wounds were cut deeper and deeper. It didn't matter what words were said. I didn't care because it slowly dawned on me at that moment that I was going to die. Maybe not at that moment, but I was going to die in that house.  
  
And then it stopped, and I was left, cloaked in blood, betraying my Gryffindor self for the whole world to see.  
  
Tom stood above me, tears falling from is eyes in angular crystals. I could hear him begging me for my amnesty in cold, harsh, formal words. And when he stopped, the last thing I heard was a soft, "You won't last much longer, Miss Evans, no matter what I do. You will die. And I won't cry for your dead body. I won't cry."  
  
Only then did the tears fall. 


	5. Undaunted Silk

A/N: It's been forever since my last update and I apologize profusely for this. However, I don't have time to go into the specifics. I must tell you that there is a lemon in this chapter hidden with in the blocked off part. Read it or don't read it. I don't care. However, it does further explain Tom's character through the way he has sex. Read on, and then please review. The little blue button loves you dearly.  
  
Oh, and James will be entering in soon- or more like smashing in. Wait and see, my dears, wait and see.  
  
Cheers and on with the show,  
  
Hunter  
  
Chapter 5: Undaunted Silk  
  
When tears cese, you cover your eyes  
  
If they knew you did this you'd be dispised  
  
In constant fear you will attack  
  
Up all night; won't turn my back  
  
Dria Black was the one girl I envied when as teenager. She was pretty, rich, and sweet. And she was born into popularity. In truth, she was everything I'd always wanted to be, but never knew I could achieve. In that, I hated her.  
  
I clung to her crowd, that group of the beautiful dumb, so completely believing that I could never be one of them. I was shy and quiet and pure of heart. I was a nice girl, but I shrouded myself in self-pity. Looking back, I wish I hadn't. Maybe then I wouldn't have been damned to the glass house in which I survive in sin.  
  
A drunken mistake is damnation. You never realize it, otherwise it would never happen, but when you do see it, you know it's your death. At first, you run around like a school boy, haphazardly convinced that you can undo your indiscretion and knowing to the depths of your soul that you are not, cannot, be responsible. Yet as it must, the doubt will strike you, and it will strike hard and fast. "What if I never get out of this?" It's not a strong idea, but it shadows your thoughts and stings at the edges of your brain. You will take a deep, icy breath, and then it hits you, "I can get out of this if I just try hard enough. And you will try; you'll try so damn hard, but you'll never make it because it just cannot be done. Eternally, you will be stuck in a perpetual circle, just trying to get out. Just trying to get out.  
  
By what I was told was Monday, I had forgiven Tom without speaking a single word. And perhaps he had forgiven me. I wasn't sure. I knew of darkness, and I knew of grief, but I knew nothing of amnesty. I was just a fucked up girl, looking for her prince. I supposed I had just ended up with the villain.  
  
"Lily-Flower," an empty voice said from my open door. His voice echoed into the artificial glass room. He seemed ghostly, but a thick masquerade of anger hid him in eager naïveté. "We are to have a ball tomorrow's eve, and you are to look gorgeous."  
  
I met Tom's empty, black gaze.  
  
"You mean for me to attend this ball of yours, but I don't see why I should. I am of no necessity, and I'd much rather sleep."  
  
"Nonsense,"  
  
I tilted my head to the right and my hair pulled downward. It was a pleasant feeling of light pain, and I craved more. It made me wish to bear my colors to the world, my scarlet blood against pale, gold skin.  
  
"Why should you not believe me?" I asked.  
  
He raised a straight, black eyebrow, but his eyes were slowly turning red.  
  
"Miss Evans," the Dark Lord answered, "I believe the question you should be asking is, 'why should I?' You see, your choice in this matter is inconsequential, and the likelihood of your beloved Tom, or myself, even considering your outlook is rather minimal. I believe you should do yourself a favor and close your mouth. I care not for your trivial existence, or narcissistic thoughts. Tomorrow's eve we are to celebrate your birthday, and you are to be there."  
  
"Go away, you imbecile. My birthday is not tomorrow."  
  
Voldemort nodded and threw his head back, visibly throwing out his arrogance for all the world to see ."I shall leave, but not without a kiss- a birthday kiss."  
  
I laughed a low, long laugh, my eyes slightly tearing though I did not know why. I just couldn't see how Tom could forget my birthday. It was to be my twenty-third, our singular favorite number. Tom knew my birthday. I was born on the second of November; tomorrow was only the fifth of June. 'Twas not my birthday.  
  
"I care not for your kisses, Master. Return Tom to me."  
  
The Dark Lord complied without words, but a look of red anger crosses his straight face beforehand. Perhaps Tom had one battle. Perhaps.  
  
"Tom," I gasped, so extraordinarily relieved at the almost pleasant exchange between myself and Lord Voldemort. He had yet to sentence me to death today, and I half expected the charcoal eyes of my lover to return to their aberrant red, and mutely kill me. However, my fantasies, no matter how unsolicited, did not come true. Instead, I focused my energy on retaining my sultry composure, if only for Tom's benefit. Alas, this did not happen. My equanimity faded with each passing heartbeat, and I threw myself into his arms as I once did so long ago with a boy so oddly like Tom; a boy who was still so very different. I was in no mood for games, and all I wanted was to give Tom my entire soul.  
  
He did not return my passion, however. He only raised his chin proudly and said, "Good-bye, Lily-Flower; until the ball."  
  
His hand slipped from mine, and I could feel him slipping away, slowly but so surely. I could not tell how well this bode for me, but I supposed the alterative could be no better, so I gripped onto his hand, a tear slowly rolling helplessly from my eye, and silently praying to whatever guarded all of life that he wouldn't leave me. But all good things must come to an end. He left me alone in my cold chambers until restless sleep took away my single, solitary tear.  
  
I woke the next day with the sun in the west, beating down its heat upon my bed. And I felt cold, even in my black bed inside that house of glass.  
  
It was late in the afternoon then; four o'clock I'd have guessed. The sky was beginning to streak itself with pinks and purples. It was so innocently beautiful in a way that eternity could never change. It made me wish I was like that, But I had bathed in sin. I swore, I drank, I fucked, and I could never get over that. I could never be any less that what I was, or any more. I was just a lonely girl, covered in blood.  
  
All I wished for in the whole, big, wide world was a little bit of peace in the warm and welcoming dreams of my prior life. I wished to be sucked into the past from which I still wonder if I've really escaped. But I am not the girl I was, and I can no longer dream such dreams. My dreams are nightmare, and are not as they once were. Those dreams were, are, no sweeter than the harshness of my reality. So instead, I stood and stretched to face the world.  
  
The cold against my feet, the chilling air that surrounded me, it all told me one thing: this was no world I wished to wake to. But despite my thoughts, I dressed myself in a simple silk robe, allowing it to cover my naked skin in a façade of elegance I truly did not possess. Elegance was no Gryffindor trait, and I certainly wasn't a Slytherin.  
  
"My Lady," a boy by the door questioned, uncertainly. He held a individual sense of confidence I did not usually see within the faux glass walls of my confinement. Perhaps that was why I took notice of him. He questioned me, my name, I think, and referred to me as if I was more than a dreadfully austere, slightly irrational, extremely awkward whore. I wasn't used to that either.  
  
"Yes," I answered with an almost curious tone voice. I wasn't about to fool myself; the boy was a Death Eater. The disciples of the Dark Lord were not to be trusted.  
  
Oh, but how I wished they could be! I was not used to the company of boys. No doubt I had always liked them, but I had never dated a boy before, and I certainly hadn't befriended one. I had never been the type. I wished to have the boy see through my soul and fall in love with me and take me away into his castle in the clouds and be my night in shining armor forever and ever and ever.  
  
Sadly, that could never be so.  
  
His sleeves lifted magically, as if to avoid them from getting dirty, and he lowered his hood to reveal a boy I did not altogether like.  
  
Lucius Malfoy.  
  
I did not know Lucius well enough to say I hated him, as I could say of many other prominent Slytherin social figures of the day. Rather, I did not hate him at all. However, I knew the Malfoy clan more than by name, and I new that each son seemed more evil than the last. Knowing such made me uneasy.  
  
I had never known Lucius at school. I believe he was several years below myself, and, therefore, had never crossed my path. I knew of his appearance. However, most of what I had heard of him was the run of the mill girly gossip I'd hear as I helped Narcissa and Bellatrix Black, Narci's eldest sister, wash the mass of black robes that would magically appear every night at the base of what seemed to be the washroom. Narci, as the fiancée of Lucius, made it very clear that she thought his looks were brilliant. I said nothing.  
  
It seemed that 'brilliant' did not do him justice. He was a walking god.  
  
I sunk back into my room, afraid of what my thoughts could bring upon.  
  
"Lady Lily," the blonde boy said more intently into the shadows in which I now resided. "I believe the Master has ordered your awakening. He will be here as soon as he possibly can, and he orders your beauty to be made apparent for the ball."  
  
My eyes grew wide. Had the boy no shame? 'The Master orders your beauty to be made apparent!' I could not imagine those words forming on Tom's lips.  
  
"Leave," I ordered young Malfoy.  
  
The boy turned, not harmed by my distaste. He remained with the elegance of a Slytherin, and exited the room. He did not speak a word for another few minutes, but I could sense his presence outside my door.  
  
"Yes?" I called out to him. He had unnerved me, I admit.  
  
He wasted no time in reentering. He simply said softly, but clearly, "Lady Lily, your exquisiteness is already apparent to me." With no more words he left.  
  
And I was quite speechless.  
  
Two cold hours passed me by, undaunted by Lucius' boldness, and cloaked the sunset with twilight. The darkness wove its magic into the air, then lay itself in me. It shivered slightly, but it was oddly peaceful.  
  
I painted my face with shimmering beauty to shield my sins from evil, to guard the only thing I hated more than my master. I painted beauty on myself to protect the only thing I loved. Both my terrors, however, were all too transparent when I looked into the mirror.  
  
"Hello, Lily-Flower," Tom hissed gently, his eyes sparkling with a slight glint of crimson.  
  
"Tom," I said softly, raising a dark red eyebrow. I met his dark eyes in my reflection, and tried desperately to hide my inner battles while avoiding any argument that aspired to evade my quarters. Yet he seemed so eager to bid me on. "Tom, I believe we have a party to attend."  
  
To that he could not dispute. Tom Riddle may have been a man of genius, but he was not quick-minded against my charms, even at the seemingly old age of fifty-four. I suppose he was blinded by his obsession with myself. I couldn't be too sure. All he did was blink, and grasp my hips with strong, open hands.

* * *

He drew me forward and pulled me against him. I could feel my silk robe untying itself against his pelvis. It crinkled upward slightly. Tom kissed me roughly above my breasts, and I tugged at the top of my robe, allowing his hands to caress them lightly. His teeth bit my neck, tugging me out of reality. All I could do was comply to his every wish.  
  
I stroked his manhood through his robe. Oh, gods how I loved this. Oh, gods, I felt so clean. I felt so human. "Tom," I breathed."  
  
Hush," he whispered, pushing me against the wall. My robe fell from my body.  
  
I wrapped my legs around his waist, without choice. I moaned in his ear as he put his tongue to my breast. I could never explain that feeling! "Oh, Tom," I gasped out. He took his teeth to my nipple, gently teasing, gently twisting. "Oh, gods, Tom," I let my hands push his robe from his lean body, caring not where it landed.  
  
I let myself slide myself against his nude form, and I could feel him getting harder beneath me until he slammed himself into my alabaster body once, twice, three times, over and over again. I acquiesced to his movements without thought. His lips met mine, and ecstasy burst within me. Tranquility rested in my stomach while oblivion endeavored to take my mind.  
  
Tom erupted within me and warmth spread through my body. Then he pulled out, and left me panting.

* * *

His breaths were even, and I wondered idly if that was the man I just had sex with. Was it even possible?  
  
I stood against the wall, confused and contorted in weariness.  
  
"Dress yourself," he ordered, diverging his eyes upward. His tone was steady, and I executed his command flawlessly until a blue-black robe, that cut down deeply at the chest and slit high up my leg, pooled lightly at my feet. Yet he said nothing. All he did was take my hand and blink his eyes that hid his soul.  
  
Slowly, he led me from my room and down a stone hall lit with emerald flame.  
  
"Flower, you must behave tonight." He finally said. His voice, however, still rung richly with monotony.  
  
"Is it not my birthday?" I asked with an almost sincere frown. I continued, "Am I not allowed a little freedom tonight, of all the nights?"  
  
he gave me a sharp look, his eyes twinkling darkly. "I surely know it is not your day of birth, Lily-Flower."  
  
I almost smiled. But Tom was not a man to lie for the pleasant melody of deceit. Or perhaps he was, but I knew Tom Riddle, and I knew he was just as mush a disciple to my master as I was. The ball, that deceitful celebration, could only mean there was to be terrible, terrible trouble.  
  
"Tom," I said, quieting my thoughts and relaxing the look of shock that seemed to have come to silently caress my face. "I-"  
  
"Shush, my flower," he said, lowering a single finger to my lips. "The games have yet to begin."  
  
Yet I did not like the sound of that at all. 


	6. Escaped Chills

Chapter 6: Escaped Chills  
  
The days gone by turn into weeks,  
  
But your secret soul you continue to keep  
  
They call me a liar for you'd never do  
  
What you did to me, what lies I brew  
  
"Come along, love," Tom said softly into my ear. "Your birthday is about to begin." His voice was so silky smooth, like heaven caged into perfection, and yet the ice in it seemed so much more real, so much more suffocating. I wished to tell him nothing more than to not speak, to not utter a single word, to just leave me in my lightness that was slightly dimmed with the mystery of my sins, and allow himself to fade in his darkness. I just wished to be free. But he did not hear my silent pleas.  
  
He led me on, forward forever, glazing my hand with a saccharine kiss from time to time. He looked so lovely, all dark and handsome. His lips did not force their way upon me in the way I knew so well. He looked kind, and gentle, and he held an aura that was only slightly marred by Voldemort's evil. But I knew that his darkness was growing by the day, more rapid now than ever before. I did not want that. I, well, I, I loved him, it was that moment that I knew it. And if I did not love him then, I once had, foolish though it was.  
  
How was it that I loved a man like Tom Riddle, the man who would be the death of me, one way or another? How could I be so foolhardy as to offer him my heart? But things weren't always as they were at that moment while he led me to a celebration posed wrongly for me. I had once hidden my grief within his arms. I had given myself to my terror, I suppose. But then, I was only a girl then, a girl who only wished more than anything in the entire world to be loved, despite my sins. No other but Tom Riddle could do such, as far as I knew. I hadn't asked Tom to steal me from my life, but would I have stopped him had I been able? No.  
  
His fingers dragged at mine, pulling me harshly now, and his kisses became more brutal. Pain filled my entire being, like scorching, curses. It shook me so horribly leaving me to tremble, and then it died away.  
  
"I'm sorry," Tom told me, drawing me in, his limbs tense and his face contorted into a look of burning hatred. His eyes were slightly glazed over with the darkest shades of burgundy, but I knew I was speaking to the man I so easily loved.  
  
He grasped my had less tightly, drawing me down the Hall of Fire, allowing green torches to soak us in their Slytherin ambience.  
  
He slammed his ways through the doors of the Great Hall, the Hall of Death, ushering me inside and plasing a sweet kiss upon my rose red lips. Despite myself, I could only try unhappily not to bit his tongue. After all, his snaky tongue was Slytherin.  
  
"Welcome, my Death Eaters," he called out into the crowd of black, his voice echoing deeply through the stone. "to the Lady Lily's birthday celebration." His head of ebony hair was raised in with earned egotistical power. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him conjure up something that looked suspiciously like absinthe into a silver chalice. "To the Lady Lily!" he yelled, raising the goblet.  
  
A song of "To the Lady Lily!" rang through the hall, but even as the Green Fairy coated all the blackened men and women in drunkenness, I could hear the bitter disdain in the even voice of the Slytherin chorus.  
  
I smiled prettily, despite my pain, and feigned a seductive glance at the young Lucius Malfoy who probably blushed brightly in response.  
  
"Let us dance!" Tom called, his hair falling into his red-black eyes.  
  
But no one did dance that night. The Hall of Death was know throughout England in a dark fear as the Dark Lord's favorite place to torture the few Ministry officials who had yet to cross sides. Many aurors had died in that hall, and I knew it as well as any other Death Eater, for I had witnessed it with my very eyes, Queen of Darkness as I was. So that night, within my prison, my black cage of sin as it was, my birthday was celebrated one last time with the only know celebration know to Voldemort; death.  
  
A scattered mass of night's black in the crowd threw off their robes to reveal themselves as kids I'd know since Hogwarts. Gryffindors I'd known since Hogwarts. For the first time in years, I didn't feel so terribly alone, and yet I felt more isolated from normality than ever before. James Potter and Sirius Black stood dead center of the crowd, right before me. Both boys, men really, stood with dark eyes sparkling with hatred.  
  
"Hello, love," James said, deftly ignoring Tom's presence at my side. He seemed calm, almost as cold as another dark man I loved. But I could see the slightest pain within his eyes as he looked upon me. There was no ghastly shock hidden in the murky depths, and I did not expect any to be there. All of Britain knew of a Dark Queen so infamously sinful as myself. My place was expected, although perhaps I was not. But those eyes portrayed the difference between Tom and James, and it took all my energy not to throw myself into the boy's arms because I knew that there was no way in hell I could ever be welcomed there. I was tainted. And all the while, he was still James, the James that had not thrown me a single glance since I had been raped. And here he was in all his icy bitterness, speaking to me with the twinkle of love hidden, but still living in his warm, hazel eyes.  
  
"James," I nodded, avoiding the gaze of the ever watchful Tom Riddle. I tried my very hardest to break my steady gaze with the boy, but matters of the heart, no matter how trivial or complex, do not allow such shyness. His eyes were such a pretty shade, as they turned soft, and warm, and gentle, and I could not stray for long.  
  
But such ideas can be very bad, and I could not help myself but to reach out, my palm nearly flat, and cup his finely chizeled cheek. I did not want to speak a word, just tell his eyes that I was sorry for all the trouble I had caused, and all the sins I had committed, and have him take me in his arms and hold me forever and ever and ever. But his eyes turned quickly cold, colder than I remembered, and he backed away.  
  
"Lily Flower," Tom whispered, harshly pulling me from my reverie of days long past, allowing me to bring my palm back to my side. But James was a quick my, made so by quidich and auror training. He was certainly quicker than me by far. He grabbed my wrist tightly.  
  
"I won't let you go that easily, Death Eater!" James cried out to me. His face seemed so very pale. His heartache was so very obvious.  
  
I could hear Tom laugh a cold cackle I had not heard him laugh before. "Death Eater?" he cried. "She is no simple-minded Death Eater. She is my Queen. Bow down to her!" But James did not bow even the slightest. "Crucio!" Tom yelled, and James' grasp on my arm deadened and he fell, twitching, to the floor. I stared on with glassy eyes and turned to Tom, so completely dumbfounded to find that I truly was not my master who stood at my side, pointing his wand at an innocent man, an innocent auror. I had not seen Tom hurt a man before, not ever Tom. I knew , of course, that there was in actuality no difference between Tom and Voldemort, and so he had hurt many men, murdered many men, but it had never been Tom who had hurt a soul before my eyes. So as the aurors cried "war!" in defense of their friend, I drew back into the shadows of the corner, my eyes blind to all light.  
  
Dria Black died that night, two feet before me, and I never even knew.  
  
With blind eyes, I left the fake glass prison I had resided in for far too long. However, some eyes were not so blind that night. As the windy air hit my face, a cold voice that I knew far too well whispered into my ear one last time.  
  
"I do not like this situation at all, Miss Evans." The cold voice echoed. The white morning glories that climbed the fence shone under the full moon, and while they were only slightly open, they were covered in a light dew that gave the courtyard an ethereal glow. My master did not belong in such beauty.  
  
"And what situation are we in?" I asked, fully aware that it looked as if I was trying to escape. For all I knew, that was exactly what I was doing for a long time ago, I made a horrible mistake. I didn't mean to. Of course, I didn't mean to, but I made the sort of mistake that cannot be undone. I wasn't born into sin. Hell, I was hardly born at all, for I was only barely alive. I did not live, and if I were to try to act live, to try to escape, I knew I would die, and that was a move that I was not yet willing to take. I was once a foolish girl, and because of that I now feel the pain of a thousand bloody daggers. "I see not a soul within this yard but you and me, and that can hardly constitute a bad situation while one is ignoring the fact that I'd much rather speak to Tom."  
  
His eyes only glared harsher daggers at me, and prepare as I was, I could still feel them stabbing mercilessly into my heart. They twisted themselves through my blood and coated themselves thickly in my red soul. I could not stop the pain. My master would not comply to my silent screams of pain.  
  
"What have I done, Lily Flower," he asked, mocking Tom without restraint. "How could you leave me? All I ever did was love you." Voldemort scoffed. "Love! Oh, how your Tom is weak with love!"  
  
My emerald eyes met his crimson ones, and for a second I was lost inside his lies.  
  
"Shut up," I cried. "You know nothing."  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
I ignored his question, my passion dying with my hope. "I wish to speak to Tom." I told him weakly, my voice evening out. Voldemort appreciated the ability to stay quiet, to stay calm. Desperate, I hoped tranquility would help me now.  
  
"Tom," the Dark Lord said, his face contorted in internal pain. "Shan't answer your call. He has given into his birthright as heir of Slytherin. He shall be King of all Europe. He shall be your king!" A cold smile played on the evil man's ruthless lips, and a harsh wind knocked me to the ground. His next words were so icily calm, so void of emotions that I felt as if I was dead to all life. "I am you king, Miss Evans." His eyes widened and his smile spread. "Bow down to you king!"  
  
"Never," I said, desperately trying to match his icy calm.  
  
"Then you, my dear., will die."  
  
"No!" a voice screamed through the night. His boyish voice was gripped with an intence physical pain, but it was Lucius Malfoy and his ever-present silken grace that entered my presence a third time that evening.  
  
Young Malfoy looked spiritually broken. The hood of his robe fell from his shoulders on barely a tread, revealing his gashed up face. The battle sat heavy on his shoulders. His eyes were a hard gray I didn't remember seeing in them earlier in my chambers. He looked leaner than he had before, unhealthily so. Perhaps that had more to do with his posture than anything else, but I knew his look so well. In fact, it was the look of heartache that had once haunted my own features.  
  
"Leave, Lucius," Voldemort ordered, undaunted.  
  
"No," Lucius whispered. "I will not." I could not help but praise the boy for his sweet naïveté, but the fight was my own; not his. "Leave her be," He said, drawing long, ivory-colored wand from the billows of his torn robes. It was thin, like a sword more than a wand, with an end of black- emerald. He brandished threateningly at the Dark Lord. "Or I will kill you."  
  
"Really now?" Voldemort asked as if only half interested. His posture was seemingly out of touch with the world around him. He twirled his wand idly through his fingers, his red eyes fixated on the spinning wood. And then it stopped, pointing straight at my heart. "Accio!" he yelled. I could feel myself in his arms. His wand was at my throat. With a single hand, he pushed up my robes to revel my legs, and groped the skin between them harshly. "Whore!" he yelled at me, and then nodding at Lucius, he screamed in his fury, "She is no more than a whore! She doesn't care for you! She's a whore!" He allowed himself a calming breath, jabbing his wand at my neck and continuing to pinch the sensitive skin between my legs. "But if it is me you want, come and get me!"  
  
Lucius laughed cruelly. "With pleasure!"  
  
Voldemort dropped me unceremoniously onto the ground, spreading his arms wide with a maniacal grin. "Take your best shot."  
  
Malfoy lunged at him, grinning wildly in a burst of adrenaline. His wand was pointed at Voldemort.  
  
The Dark Lord cackled. "Crucio!" he cried, and Lucius fell, screaming. "You shan't see another day."  
  
But the day was not yet over, and Lucius was not done fighting. Three last words echoed through the boys throat, three terrible words that paralyzed me as green light spurred through the courtyard towards Voldemort's heart, demolishing all traces of love. "Avada Kedava, Tom!" And with those final words, Lucius fell to the ground, lifeless, earning all my devotion and all my hatred at exactly the same moment.  
  
The man above me, the man I loved, the man I hated, dropped to my level, surrounded by morning glories.  
  
"Tom!" I cried. Cold sweat appeared upon my brow as tears leaked from my eyes, combining in eternal, melancholy bliss.  
  
He withered before me, revealing himself to me once more as Tom Riddle with big, black eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I swear I'll never leave you, Tom, just please, please don't go. Don't die on me. I'll stay here forever as your Queen."  
  
"Lily Flower," he said softly, his breath catching in his throat before dazzling the morning glories with a thin, white frost. "Don't cry. Don't ever cry for me. I shall live. Don't cry for me."  
  
"I won't leave you, Tom. I love you."  
  
"No," he whispered. "Love is dangerous. Don't love. Love is weak. Tears are weak. You are not. You will live, Lily Flower, and I will live, but you must leave."  
  
I gave Tom a blank look. He was letting me leave? I could not comprehend what had only just transpired. He was really letting me leave? I did not understand it, but I knew this much: staying with Tom was death, and I needed life. I could not stay and die with Tom Riddle, even if I wished for it more than life. The beauty of the grounds only transfixed my attention on the sadness that flew around me on black, glittering wings. I needed life. I needed to escape.  
  
"How?" I asked, leaning over Tom's breathless form. My tears fell upon his face, glowing golden before rolling away into his robes. He looked so sad and I didn't know why.  
  
"Past the gates," he choked. "Just get past the gates"  
  
His brow was creased with truth in that moments, truth I had seen only once before on the moment I met him. Both of those moments changed both of our lives, and I briefly wondered if this would be the last time I'd ever see him. He spoke as a man about to die. But he would live and, despite myself, I knew it. Lucius was only a boy, an ordinary boy. He could kill no Dark Lord. Tom would live, Dark King or not, he would live, but foe all my own intents and purposes, he was dead.  
  
"Go!" he yelled. "Run!"  
  
And I did. I ran as fast as I could as the winds pushed out with me. Lost tears fell from my eyes and as I left the ethereal courtyard and passed through the vitreous gates, I looked back at the two men lying beside the morning glories. Lucius was dead. He, my love, Tom, was dead, but the Dark Lord was not. I had not escaped his wrath, and I knew even after I was far away from the fake glass house that my chills had escaped with me.  
  
And I was still haunted.  
  
A/N: It's been such a horribly long time, I know. Thank you to all the people that reviewed. As few as there are, it make me happy to know that my story is liked. I don't think I've gotten a single flame, which seems amazing to me.  
  
Now please, everyone who reads this, please review! More reviews mean faster updates, even if you flame me. 


	7. Melancholy Watch

Chapter 7: Entrusted Watch  
  
How can I sleep inside my own skin  
  
When it feels like I live in eternal sin  
  
Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs  
  
Crossing my fingers; hoping to die  
  
The ever watchful eyes of my old headmaster, and dear friend, were adjusted on the school gates on the evening of June fifteenth. His eyes were an intent blue, as if he knew a secret he would not share. A rare half smile lit up his old face, allowing his eyes to sparkle mysteriously.  
  
I wished to know why, but I liked his expectant posture and all-around good nature. It had been such a long time, and I didn't want to ruin a thing.  
  
"Good evening, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said lightly. He turned towards me, a sweet smile on his face. "Lemon drop?" he offered.  
  
"I'm not here to kill you." I told him weekly. I did not want small talk, I did not want a lemon drop, and I most certainly did not want to lie to Albus Dumbledore. It is said that he was the one man that Tom Riddle ever feared, but he was also my mentor, and that made him the only man I could ever tell the whole truth.  
  
"Lily," he began, sighing to himself and taking a single lemon candy and placing it on his tongue. "I believe you know that the phoenix is reborn from his own ashes. At that time, he is not beautiful, nor is he majestic, but he is alive  
  
Forever will each and every phoenix live, his feathers red with his long, bloody life. For this, he is presented with a golden plume." Behind his pointed gaze, a look of deep melancholy glazed the professor's soul, but he smiled unreasonably anyway. He looked so much older than I had ever realized.  
  
"I don't understand, Sir." I told him.  
  
"That, Miss Evans, is the point." He paused, mumbling to himself what I did not understand until weeks later. "For now."  
  
Despite his sincerity, I could not help but think he was not being completely honest with me. People said that Dumbledore was crazy, and while I couldn't agree more, he was not senile. I pretended that he had not influenced me in the least, and let myself forget his words. I didn't need to bother him. The last week and a half of traveling into Hogwarts' Scottish hills took a great deal out of me. I had eaten little, and drank even less. I needed a drink, a nice red wine, perhaps, or maybe a firewhiskey. I wasn't healthy, and I looked terrible. My red waves of hair were a vicious mess of curls. I was scratched and cut up from head to two. I needed a bath. More than anything, I needed Dumbledore's kindness. I wasn't about to pester him with trivial questions and banal conversation.  
  
"You may go, Miss Evans." His eyes twinkled merrily. "I believe there is a vacancy in the Head Girl's dorm. You may take up residence in your old room."  
  
I nodded, quite relieved. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
"Of course,"  
  
And so the days passed. I stayed in my dorm, and the castle stayed away. I rarely ever saw anyone, particularly any of the professors. They had a school to manage, and a war that they had little help to fight. Besides, I had thousands of books to read, ones I had never seen before in my life, let alone my seven years at Hogwarts. I became so caught up in the world of fantasy, and history, and spells, and potions, and all the things that make life magical that I fell away from the world. I began to only correspond with the house elves over meals, rare as those became, that I think I may have lot touch with reality. I was just alone, and I didn't really mind.  
  
I was free inside Hogwarts, though it did bring back so many memories. I should have expected it to all come flying back at me: the good and the bad. There were things I just could not avoid in those walls, things I'm not sure I should ever have experienced in the first place. But there was one day that change everything that ever happened to me in Hogwarts. After that, nothing was so simple anymore.  
  
It was a normal morning when I woke. Although, I suppose now that my scarlet bed was slightly darker than I was used to. I raised my watch so that I could see the time. It was an old Muggle one I had conjured during my journey. The glass was cracked and the silver, tarnished, but it did the job well enough. In fact, it read four o'clock a.m. at the time.  
  
And that would explain the light, I thought to myself.  
  
I pulled on a black robe, a velvet one I had generously been given by the young Mademoiselle Promfery, the only other inhabit of the school whom I hadn't downright avoided. I had never known her very well. She was a graduate of Beauxbatons at fifteen when I was only a first year. She was a good woman, a good healer too. She was always very kind to me, claiming that Dumbledore spoke very highly of me. I doubted those words were very true, but I respected her kindness to me, a Death Eater and a whore who lacked any sort of respectable attributes. She knew my love of luxery, probably from all the way back in my Hogwarts days, and so she gave me her favorite robe. It was her only velvet one, and probably the nicest one I'd ever seen, and she had forced me to except it. Of course, I really didn't need any force to take it. It was so utterly beautiful, and I really had no intention of not accepting beauty.  
  
The dark room seemed to grow even darker, and as it did so, I could feel myself being pulled into its depths. The more it closed in around me, the more unreal I felt. And then a great squawk reminded me just who I was.  
  
A great crimson phoenix had settled itself on my vanity, nestled against my perfume, a mix of vanilla and ginger, so comfortably challenging my essence with his own. I did not recognize the bird, it could have been any young one for it had not gained a single golden feather. Like me. Like Fawkes, James' olden phoenix. It carried a single letter, my name scrawled effortlessly upon the edge of the slightly torn parchment. Lily. The bird's eyes were set on me, filled with a loving familiarity. So much like Fawkes, who I would never meet again. I missed him, but I settled for the present bird and stroked his elegant head lovingly before taking my letter.  
  
The words upon the parchment were written in an orderly cursive, quite unlike the messy, buoyant hand that wrote my name so sweetly. The words were that of Albus Dumbledore, and I knew this much as I knew the back of my own hand. Of course, I could not remember Dumbledore ever have taking in a phoenix, and such birds were not easily forgotten. The phoenix was the only animal with a soul to match my own. They were beautifully melancholy and held a morose elegance, eternally bound to their sins and their sadness. Much like myself. And for that, I suppose I somewhat hated them, and myself.  
  
'Dear Miss Evans,' Dumbledore wrote, ' Your presence is immediately required at the doors of the Great Hall. P.S. Dress Warmly.'  
  
It said nothing else, though I searched haphazardly for more. I was left only with a dull ache of curiosity and the slight warmth of excitement. Because of this, I felt I had no choice but to acquiesce to the whims of my mentor, a comfused expression upon my pretty face. I could not even begin to consider the old man's mind in the matter. I had not spoken to him in days, and even if I had, I doubt I could guess what was about to take place. Dumbledore was not the sort of man to share his plots regularly, and even of he were, I doubt I would be the sort of person he would tell, Death Eater as I was. I had never killed, tortured, or used a single one of the Unforgivable Curses on a man, wizard or Muggle, innocent or guilty. I was marred with sins, but not of that type. It wasn't as if Dumbledore knew this, of course, and to him, I was a murderer all the same. I was useless under any circumstance, dire or not. What I didn't know, however, was that my escape from the darkness of my master was much more important than I had previously deemed.  
  
I left the dorm, an old denim coat draped over my velvet robe. I suppose it was exactly fashionable, but it was comfortable all the same. It kept me warm as I trailed through the cold, stony corridors of the Hogwarts castle. Besides, I really saw no reason to be fashionable. Even in good fashion , I'd be hated all the same.  
  
It was icy in the empty, old school, but it reminded my of the old comfort I could remember so well.  
  
Candlelit lit the Entrance Hall. I could see it even from my place inside a passage way hidden by the large portrait of the Founding Four, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin, and as I moved closer, hidden in the shadows of the main staircase, a score of voice filled the castle's base.  
  
As closer I grew, I could see figures standing in a perpetual circle, joined by their barren hands. Their maces were blurred my the shadows , but I could sense the magic around me all the same. The chanting rose to a high- pitched scream, and only then did I realize the voices did not speak English, but a language I did not at all recognize. It bore no resemblance to my childhood French, nor my rudimentary Latin, leading me to believe the language was much more ancient than any I was familiar with.  
  
The chorus grew together, softly layered with a mourning one's anguish. It was then that I came to realize that I was experiencing a magical memorial ceremony, and as I came to see it, the voices grew silent, only to rise again in a whispered English, suppressing me with their heartfelt words.  
  
"God bless the Bones family!" they cried, their voices becoming increasingly quieter. "God bless Regulas Black! God bless Chauncy Jones! God bless Andromeda Black!" A few voice faltered there, a voice or two crying, "Dria!' and a few ladies back sobs, and then continuing, "God bless Artemis Rose! God bless Lucius Malfoy!" With the final mane, of the boy who came to save me, and died doing so, the voices feel silent, stumbling slightly to their halt. A few loud sobs could be heard until single, very familiar voice called out loudly, "And god bless Lily Evans!"  
  
I wanted to yell at them, all of them. I wanted to cry and say, "I'm not dead. I'm not dead, James. I'm right here, alive. I'm not dead." But no words could escape me. I was alone and cold. It wasn't so entirely different from my time in the faux glass house. I was free now, but still caged in my silent hell. I wasn't dead, but in oh, so many ways, I was. My heart beat, and my eyes saw the world, and breaths beat through my lungs, but at the same time, I was dead. How can I put into words the emotions that I felt? I was cold and rotting, but not buried and gone. How was my presence so painfully obvious to me and yet so oblivious to James, to every one?  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Evans."  
  
I jumped in start.  
  
The old wizard invaded my vision, and I coward away in fear. How could a man be so horrible as to make me watch such a horrible sight? It was inhumane. And yet he was sorry. Sorry. The word did nothing. It gave me no consolation in the least. I just wanted to finally be completely dead.  
  
"You will be." he told me.  
  
I didn't understand.  
  
"You will die, Miss Evans, but not yet. You cannot die because you must live."  
  
"Why?" I asked him, my despair all too evident on my face. Why live when everything I had ever wanted was gone. Why go on when I was so terribly unhappy? Why go on with out James, without Tom, only with abyss?  
  
My attention was diverted to the only figure remaining in the Entrance Hall. A large bird sat on his shoulder, sulking with the man. James and his Fawkes. He looked incomplete.  
  
The old man sighed, removing his glasses from his face. He looked uncomfortable, and reasonably so. Fatigue stained him with wrinkles, and age gave his auburn hair a silver tint. He sighed once again and then looked straight into my eyes. I did not cower at all. And then he said, "So that you can gain your golden plume."  
  
A/N: ONE MORE CHAPTER UNTIL THE END! 


End file.
